Madness Is A Dangerous Game
by sec2retgirl
Summary: "Can mad people even love?" The Joker grinned creepily, toying with his favourite switchblade as he approached me. "Ah-ah-ah, dollface," He chuckled, moving in towards me to brush his lips over mine. "You're forgetting that love is a form of madness." I was about to find out just how horribly blurred the lines dividing love and madness could become. Joker x OC story.
1. Chapter 1

**Madness Is A Dangerous Game**

So I've decided to do a Joker x OC Fanfic. I'm not sure how it's going to turn out, or if it's going to be successful at all – but please, feedback and reviews = awesomeness.

~Sec2retgirl

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P.S – Enjoy. Or I'll set Grumpy and Chuckles on you.


	2. Tonight's Entertainment

Chapter One

**Tonight's Entertainment**

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"_A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything." _

― _Friedrich Nietzsche_

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_Ah_, how I hated parties.

Especially the kind where I had to dress up elegantly, act elegantly, and _walk _elegantly. All three skills of which I lacked experience in. Acting like a rich snob was not my preferred choice of character, I promise you. And I was pretty much certain that I was a walking disaster in these heels.

I'd tried to tell them, honestly.

It wasn't _my _fault if a few things ended up broken or smashed this evening. I had seriously poor hand-eye coordination, and two left feet. Not to mention I was involuntarily lethal when I was nervous – crowds weren't my thing.

_Anyway,_ I thought dismissively, _before I sign myself up for a death warrant, I should find my bro._

I scanned the thick crowds nervously, feeling any resolve I once had crumble and blow away into the wind.

"Oh, _nevermind," _I chuckled nervously to myself. "I'll find him later. Oh, hey! Alfred!"

A few gangly old ladies turned their noses up at me as I approached the English butler. I hissed at them, sending a scathing look their way. The ladies paled and continued to pretend I didn't exist, which was jolly good to me.

"Ah, Miss Dent! You look lovely this evening," Alfred commented happily. He was holding out a pristine silver tray – on it sat bundles of slimy, tuna-salmon roll thingies. Yuck.

Expertly hiding my disgust – although Alfred already knew I hated fish-combination rolls – I sent him my most cheesy grin. I gave Alf a quick ballerina twirl for extra effect.

"That dress is beautiful. Will you be dancing tonight?" He asked me, his English accent thick. He cracked a mischievous little grin of his own – he knew I didn't dance.

Two left feet, remember?

"Don't jinx my good luck, Alf," I warned the sweet old man. "By the end of evening I'll be in the ER unconscious."

"I should certainly hope not, Miss," Alfred sighed, shaking his head. "I doubt that Mr Dent would be happy with such an outcome."

"Of course I won't be happy. I'm not paying for your hospital bills _again," _My big brother – Harvey – scoffed, appearing beside me suddenly.

I almost jumped at his sudden arrival. I knew that he was skilled in some area of self-defence, but I _hated _it when he just popped out of nowhere like that. Ever since Harv had become DA, he'd been acting all high and mighty around me.

"What care you have for your only sister's welfare," I replied sarcastically, holding a hand to my heart. "When I'll be in the hospital, dead and dying, you'll be worrying over the costs. That makes me feel _so _much better."

Harvey laughed deeply, grabbing me around the shoulders and hauling me into his chest. Great, now he had the advantage. His large hands clamped on top of my head, and he took the liberty of messing up my dark locks.

I growled, and elbowed the git. "I hate you," I snarled menacingly. "I _really_ hate you." I may not have given a shite about what the fat cats here thought of me – but _nobody _messed with my hair and got away with it.

Harvey held up his hands, pulling the innocent façade. "You look fine, Abby," He assured me, although I could see him trying to hold back a snicker. I smacked him across the chest.

"You're a bloody nuisance," I hissed. Harvey pouted.

"You know you love me, sis," He grinned, "You couldn't live without me."

"Yeah? Well I'm having doubts about _that –"_

"Harvey!" I heard someone sigh. Of course, the crowd parted like the red sea for Rachel Dawes, Harvey's steady girlfriend – whom, may I add, I liked _very _much, perhaps more than the high-and-mighty DA over here…

"Would you stop messing with Abigail's hair? I made it all pretty for Bruce's party! Look at it _now," _Rachel groaned, waltzing over, her magic hands outstretched to fix the bird's nest upon the crown of my head.

Within minutes, my hair looked – according to Rachel –_ magnifique. _I took her word for it. When she said hair was good, it was good. Period.

I swivelled round on the death-traps connected to my legs, and glared at my brother. However, I stopped short when I saw his face. Harvey looked…serious. He was never serious in my presence. Usually, he was laughing his ass off at my demise.

But not now. Now he looked scarily serious. I noticed that his eyes were trained on Rachel – said woman was looking rather uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny.

"Rach, can we talk somewhere in private?" Harvey asked suddenly, his hard gaze never leaving her. My nerves faltered. That was _never _a good opening for a sentence. He wasn't going to…no, _no. _Harv loved Rachel; he'd told me himself – multiple times.

I watched, biting my bottom lip anxiously as he led Rachel away. My brother's posture was stiff. Shoulders squared, fists clenched – as though he were heading into a war zone. I shook my head, sighing. Now was not the time to worry over my idiot brother's love life.

I had _mingling_ to attend to.

Of course, if you count munching on those delectable-looking carrot sticks over there and annoying the esteemed waiters all evening as _mingling, _then I reckon I was doing pretty good in working my way up the social ladder.

Anyway, I was about to reach out for a carroty baton stick – when suddenly, I heard a loud _bang _behind me, and the room went silent. I sighed, depressed. What damages had been caused due to the aftermath of my arriving? There _was _that glass vase that toppled over when I first arrived…

But that bang did _not _sound good.

"Good evening, ladies and gentle_men," _I heard a deep voice call out, disrupting the ear-ringing silence. I heard loud, echoing footsteps. "We are, uh…tonight's _entertainment."_

Oh, eureka. Something to ease my boredom and distract me from the rich.

"I only have one question," I heard this guy call. His question, however, made me realise that something was most definitely off. "Where. Is. Harvey. Dent-_ah?"_

I swung round. What greeted me was a most gruesome sight. It was entertainment, alright – but I _hated _clowns. Hadn't I told Bruce that I detested the face painted jokers? Great, he'd arranged this in spite of me.

Although, I _was_ starting to doubt that little speculation. After all, these guys wearing clown masks were holding _guns…_

The main clown looked rather sinister. With white facepaint, dark smudgy eyes and red paint smeared over his lips and up his cheeks – he looked pretty evil. The clown-man had scraggly, dyed-green hair, which looked as though it could do with a thorough scrubbing.

He was rather tall and broad-shouldered, his clothes being a long, purple trench coat, dark green vest and black dress shirt, complete with tie and leather purple gloves. What an odd getup for a criminal clown. Where were the big shoes and red afros?

I hid behind an old, white-haired man in a designer suit, who was shaking like a leaf. I would have comforted him – if he hadn't been the guy who had laughed snobbishly at me when I tripped up earlier in the evening. Damn heels.

The clown started asking people individually if they knew where my brother was. Everyone cowered away from him when he approached, people being too scared or frightened to reply to him.

I knew I was in deep trouble when the clown came up to the guy I was hiding behind. "You know," The clown said to the snobbish man, looming in his face, "I'll settle for his loved ones."

A few people glanced at me. _Shit, shit, shit! _

Of course, snobbish man just had to utter the wrong words. "We're not intimidated by _thugs," _He snarled. I shuddered. This guy was asking for it, _seriously._ I'm telling you now, I would _not _be held responsible for his death.

The clown – chewing what looked to be one of those tuna-salmon things – rolled his shoulders, a deadly look crossing his features. "You know," He uttered calmly, "You remind me of my father."

I crossed my fingers. _Walk away, walk away. _

Suddenly, the clown whipped out a knife with a sharp, serrated edge – and grabbed the back of snobbish man's neck, yanking him towards the small, but lethal weapon.

"I _hated _my father," Clown-man growled in a dark, husky voice. I gulped.

_Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down –_

He looked down, of course. And noticed little ol' me, crouching behind snobbish designer man. His black eyes sparkled as he took me in. The clown shoved the guy he was previously threatening with a knife to the side, and crouched down to my level.

That was when I noticed them.

His scars. He had a permanent smile etched into his cheeks. He grinned at me, his sickly smile stretching into a crazed grin.

"Well, you must be _A-bi-gail," _He announced, stressing out the syllables in my name. He rested his gloved hands on his knees, his bottomless eyes staring into my soul.

I shuddered. "Who are you?" I asked. He leaned in closer to me, his breath – which stunk of fish, I'll admit – fanning over my face.

"Well, beau_tiful," _He grinned, reaching out with his hand to pick up a piece of my hair, "I'm the _Joker."_

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**First chapter, guys! Tell me what you think! Should I continue this story? Please do review:)**

**Whoops, almost forgot this little guy~**

_**DISCLAIMER - I don't own Batman or any of its characters, apart from my OC :) **_


	3. The Joker

Chapter Two

**The Joker**

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"_My wish is that you may be loved to the point of madness." _

― _André Breton_

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My eyes widened in shock, as realisation struck me like a chord.

_The Joker._

Of course – Harvey had warned me about this guy. A complete maniac – he was insane, driven on by madness to do crazy things. He should have been locked up in Arkham Asylum. But he was here – in front of me, grinning madly as though he'd won some prize.

I shivered, though it wasn't from the cold. I stayed in my crouched position, frozen. His gaze never once left mine, and I found myself trapped in his hungry stare. My heartbeat pounded in my temples like an angry drum; fear coursed through my veins as though I'd been injected with it; sweat trickled down the small of my back.

He was here for Harvey.

That terrifying thought pulsated through my brain, warning me. A surge of protectiveness gave me courage, and I willed myself to snap out my trance. I would not let him find my brother.

Wherever the hell Harvey was, I hoped to God that he'd _stay _there.

I jumped up and leapt backwards like a scalded cat. Needless to say, the Joker found this amusing. He stood up himself, laughing hysterically at me – as though it was all some game. "_A-bi-gail!" _The clown taunted. I screwed my eyes shut, refusing to look at the psycho in front of me. "Are you afraid of _me?"_

He was enjoying every moment of this, that much was certain to me.

I heard his light footsteps as he approached. How I wished I could just melt in between the wall behind me, like a ghost. Why hadn't I stayed home? Why was I so _persistent _to attend these parties? If I hadn't come here tonight, maybe…

_No, _my mind shot back. Somehow, the Joker had already known who I was. I hadn't told him my name – yet he already knew it. Even if I hadn't come here tonight – even if I hadn't followed along with my perfect older brother – the Joker still would have known about me.

Either way, he could have gotten me.

I let my eyes flutter open, and was greeted by the sight of a large, scarred smile and yellow stained teeth. The Joker leaned in dangerously close to me – his arms shot out to cage me in, keep me hopelessly trapped. No-one could save me now. I took a quick glance to my right, then my left. All the guests were cowering away, clearly afraid of this man.

I was alone.

The Joker's grin widened at my expression. He let himself lean over me, causing his grassy dyed hair to fall around us like a curtain, cutting us off from the outside world. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He smelt like gunpowder and ash. His charcoal eyes bored into my icy blue ones, and I repressed another shudder.

"What the matter, dollface-_ah?_ You look nervous. Is it the scars?" He asked quietly, his nose almost touching mine. I tried to shake my head no, but he reared backwards all of a sudden, and grabbed my chin in his leathery grasp. Bringing me closer to his painted face, he snarled at me. "You wanna know how I got 'em?"

"Not particularly," I admitted, more boldly that I felt. The Joker giggled in delight, and the hand grasping my chin darted upwards to stroke my cheek. The leather of his glove felt cool against my hot skin.

"You're notlike the others," The Joker admitted, his voice low and husky so only I could hear. "You're…you're different.I like that. I like it a lo_t," _He whispered, stressing the last letter.

The hand that was oh-so-gentle against my cheek mere moments ago suddenly became rough. He used both his hands this time to grab forcefully at my face, his left hand holding the knife up against my cheek.

_This clown has some serious bipolar issues…_

"So I had a wife," He growled out, "She was beautiful. Like _you. _Who tells me that I worry too much. Who tells me I oughta smile more. Who _gambles _and gets in deep with the shark_s-ah."_

The Joker seemed unaware of the fact that he was unconsciously tracing the slightly safer edge of his knife along my jaw. I thanked my lucky stars that he wasn't using the serrated edge.

"And one day, they carve her face," He continued, his deep eyes zeroing in on mine. I gulped. This story would go perfect in a horror movie. "We have no money for surgeries –she can't take it. I just wanna see her smile again! I just want her to know that I don't _care _about the scars!"

The way he kept looking at me sent chills up my spine. _Please God just let this be over, already…_

"So, I stick a razor in my mouth. And do this –" The Joker made a show of moving around his mouth, as though he were chewing on a hard toffee. " – To myself. And you know what?" He laughed hysterically, grinning down at me.

"What?" I asked, frowning. Although I really would have preferred not to hear him speak. His baritone voice itself would give me nightmares.

"She can't stand the _sight _of me!" He snarled, almost spitting in my face. "She _leaves. _Now I see the funny side. _Now _I'm always smiling!"

He was grinning again, laughing as though he hadn't just told me a story about razors and cutting cheeks. Suddenly, I start to feel nervous about the cool, metal weapon placed upon my skin. He could slice through my mouth at any given moment.

So I took my chance. While he was still chuckling, I jerked my knee upwards, hitting him where the sun doesn't shine. He stumbled backwards, covering up his pain with another breathy laugh. I grimaced. He's _crazy._

The Joker, with a fresh coat of anger colouring his features, stalked towards me. He looked absolutely livid. "You got a little fight in you, _A-bi-gail," _He growled approvingly. "I _like _that."

"Then you're gonna love me," A raspy voice bellowed. And suddenly, _he _was there, delivering a punch to the Joker's greasy face and beating the crap out of his goons. The _Batman._

I watched, fascinated, as the vigilante took down every single clown-masked goon – without a single hesitation or stumble. I stepped back, not wishing to be caught up in the fight.

Suddenly, I felt two slender hands grasp at my shoulders. "Abby?" I heard Rachel ask worryingly. "Are you okay? I' m sorry, I should have _done s_omething! Did he hurt you?"

I swivelled round, and gave her my brightest smile. "Nope, I'm perfectly fine, Rach," I assured her. She sighed in relief, returning the smile.

"Okay, stay here," She told me seriously. "I'm going to move in closer." I frowned at her words.

"Are you nuts? Just stay here. You don't wanna be caught up in that…" I trailed off, seeing the determined look on her face. I sighed when she skittered up closer to the battle scene. She probably wanted to see the Joker get his face kicked in. I'm sure everyone did.

However, my heart froze in fear when the Joker grabbed Rachel out from the crowd. He held a gun to her temple, and stood scarily close to the window. For a split second, the Joker's gaze landed on mine, and he winked at me. I scowled at him.

"Drop the gun," The Batman hissed, his voice deep and raspy.

"Or," The Joker chuckled, "You just take off your little mask, and show us all who you _really _are. Hm? Haha!" He aimed a shot at the window behind him. Glass exploded in a frenzy of tiny shards, and a few people next to me gasped.

But that wasn't what made me scream in terror. What made me scream was the fact that the Joker had just _shoved_ Rachel outthe window, and to her death.

"Rachel!" I cried, hysteria in my panicked tone. The Batman had already thrown himself after her, but I found myself running towards the broken window, too.

Before I could make a very stupid jump, though – which would probably result in my untimely demise – I felt two muscular arms weave themselves around my waist. I was brought roughly into a hard chest.

"I didn't say you could die yet," The Joker giggled into my ear. He reached into his purple pocket, and took out a rather long syringe.

Did I mention that I absolutely hated needles?

"W-what are you –"

I didn't get to finish, as the Joker pierced the needle into my skin, and injected some kind of fluid into me. Immediately, I started to feel drowsy. My eyelids drooped, and my whole body sagged in his embrace. The last thing I heard before sinking into darkness was the Joker's creepy laugh.

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**Done! Let me know what you think, and review, guys :) **

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or any of its characters.**_


	4. He's Mad, Clearly

Chapter Three

**He's Mad, Clearly**

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"…_And I was in the darkness, so darkness I became."_

_-Florence and the Machine: "Cosmic Love"_

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Darkness.

I never thought that it could be so terrifying. Turning the light off and going to sleep at night – with the promise that you will wake up to the light again – is one thing. But waking up to absolute blackness was another.

Somehow, I'd expected to wake up in my brother's apartment. I should have heard the sound of birds twittering just outside, and Harvey humming in the kitchen. Where was that lingering smell in the air, of bacon and fried eggs? Why wasn't Harvey bursting into my room, demanding that I eat the breakfast he so generously made, before it got cold?

Instead, here I was. Then again, where _was _'here'? Here was just a great, big, black void. There was no light whatsoever. The air around me was dry and dusty – as if this place hadn't been cleaned in a long time. I wrinkled my nose in revulsion; wherever I was, it smelt stale and old.

I felt drowsy and tired, weak and hungry. How long had I been here, sitting idly in the shadows? Was my brother worrying about me, wondering where I could have possibly disappeared to? What about Rachel – had the Batman saved her in time? Were there search parties, out right now, looking for me?

Or perhaps, had I been forgotten? Like some old toy that was no longer useful. Had they given up on me, claiming that I was a lost cause?

_What's so special about Abigail Dent, anyway? She's not important at all. There's no one who really loves her. We might as well just leave it and go home. Forget about her, already._

What was I _thinking? _Why was I coming up with these horrible thoughts? Was this the Joker's plan, all along? To keep me here and let the darkness consume my thoughts and twist them into horrible fears?

No. I was much stronger than this; I wasn't some weakling or damsel in distress that needed saving. _I _would save _myself. _And I knew how to help others around me. After all – that was what I had been doing all my childhood. If it wasn't for my quick thinking skills, Harvey and I would have been beaten to death a _long _time ago – by the very man that we dared to call our father.

But I would not think of that now. That man didn't deserve to take up an ounce of me or Harvey's memory. Besides, he was long dead now. He couldn't hurt us ever again.

Suddenly, a spine-chilling laugh echoed through the darkness. I hung my head, groaning. He hadn't left me alone here, after all. _Then again, _I thought dryly, _if I had been left here alone for too long, I might still be thinking about such morbid subjects._

It was fascinating, really. How quickly being alone in the darkness could send one's mind to the brink of insanity. Fortunately, thanks to my _excellent _upbringing – note the sarcasm – I could endure such awful circumstances.

I flinched when the lights blinked on.

There was a silence when our gazes met – his onyx ones and my sharp, icy blue ones.

"You look like shit," I commented pleasantly.

Surprisingly, the Joker started to laugh. Well, not _so _surprising – he _was _the _Joker, _after all. And Jokers joked.

Usually. Not so much when he was shoving a gun in your face, but you get the picture.

"Ah, you never cease to surprise me, _A-bi-gail," _The Joker chuckled. He pranced up to me, and I managed to get a better glimpse of him. I was right on my observation – he _did _look like shit. His clown makeup was smudged, and crackling in some places. His garish hair stuck to his forehead, sweaty and sticky.

"How are you feeling?" He asked me all of a sudden. I was shocked; did he actually care for my wellbeing? Perhaps he wasn't all bad – maybe he had some kind of sympathy or _humanity, _even.

Of course, that thought flew out the non-existent window when he bent over laughing, gasping between chuckles. I sighed, and let my eyes roll up to the ceiling. Now that I could see better, I noticed that the roof had cracks and holes in it.

Scanning my eyes over the room I was in, I realised that I was in some kind of shabby storage space – or basement, more like. There walls were all red brick, no wallpaper or anything. There were shelves stacked against the walls, assorted with various guns and grenades.

Well, I least I knew where I was. In the Joker's hideout. Who else would stack such a multitude of weapons in their basement?

My body was stuck in a chair – a very uncomfortable one, I'll admit – and my hands were tied to either armrest. I flexed my arms and hands, noting that they were, in fact, stuck fast.

_This could hinder my escape plans, _I thought, grimacing.

I hadn't noticed that the Joker had creeped up behind me, until I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. I shivered. _Stay strong, Abby. Be brave. _

"You didn't answer my question," The Joker whispered, smacking his lips. "I don't like it when people, uh, don't answer my questions." I tensed up when I felt his heavy hands curl themselves around my bare shoulders. I cursed inwardly at myself for wearing this god-awful sleeveless dress.

This time, however, he wasn't wearing his purple leather gloves. I could tell – I felt the texture of rough, foreign skin on my own, instead of smooth leather. In my peripheral vision, his hands, surprisingly, looked quite nice tanned.

I winced when his grip around my frail shoulders started to strengthen, and any thoughts about him looking nice disappeared. The Joker had a frighteningly strong grip – one that could shatter bone if he allowed it.

"_Answer my question," _He snarled, his hot breath in my ear.

I gulped, and let my words tumble out in a nervous stutter. "I'm feeling great," I replied with wobbly enthusiasm, my voice cracking at the edges. "Absolutely tip-top."

Suddenly, the Joker burst out in laughter. My eyes widened in bewilderment. How could he change what he was feeling so quickly? He really was bi-polar – and extremely unpredictable. Not to mention completely mad.

"_Tip-top!" _He guffawed, dancing around me until he stopped in front of me again. "What an _excellent _word_-ah!"_

I could only stare at him, my mouth hanging unhinged. "You're off your head," I stated bluntly. "Completely bonkers."

I immediately regretted saying those words. In a flash, the Joker was in my face, his yellow teeth bared in a dark grin. His bare hands shot out to pinch the flesh at the side of my mouth, and he started pulling at it mercilessly. I held back a yell of pain.

"I wonder, _A-bi-gail, _what you'd look like if you were smiling _all the time?" _The clown giggled. "You're too serious_-ah."_

I hissed and head-butted him, causing the Joker to stumble back with a painful laugh. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, gazing at me in pleased surprise. "What do you want with me?" I growled at him.

The Joker shook his head. "You're too much fun, dollface_-ah. _I, uh, wanna keep you to myself." He chuckled, stepping back over to me. I watched him warily as he approached me again.

"You are crazy," I reminded him as he crouched in front of me. He grinned again, his scars stretching even further up his ashen cheeks. He reached a hand out to stroke the ends of my hair this time. I watched, curious, as his fingers entwined themselves in strands of my dark locks.

"I'm not crazy," The Joker whispered, "I'm not_-ah." _I looked at him, unsure of what to say or do. Well – not that I could _do _much, but I could certainly talk to him.

The Joker's eyes met mine again. His smiled at me this time, a genuine one, and his gaze almost seemed…soft.

But only for a second. Then it was gone, the emotions in his eyes covered like an invisible blanket. The usual creepy grin returned. I shuddered.

"Harvey will come for me," I promised him. As I said this, the Joker jumped up, and away from me. My eyes followed his tall form as he strided towards the door, yanking it open. Before he left, he turned to me, smirking.

"Then I'll just, uh, shoot him down in front of your eyes, dollface," He said, winking at me before slamming the door shut behind him.

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**I hope this chapter was OK – I had a teensy bit of writer's block here. Sometimes inspiration just fails me. **

**Anyways, review, tell me what you think~**

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or any of its characters (or do I? *laughs evilly in the background*)**_


	5. To be Fearless

Chapter Four

**To be Fearless**

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"_Be careful in the company of monsters that you don't become one." _

― _Cindy Gerard_

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I was unsure of how long I had been sitting here, in this rank old basement. I was grateful that I had light. The black, yawning void was not something I missed. But my back ached from sitting in the old wooden chair, and my throat burned from dehydration. I was starving; I would have gladly eaten those fish rolls that Alfred had so generously made up earlier.

My fear and panic had long ago softened – but I kept reminding myself that I had to _stay _scared. There were two reasons – firstly, it was necessary to keep my ever dwindling sanity at a reasonable point. I was a sane person; I wouldn't let some psychopath change that.

Secondly, to be fearless around a loon like the Joker was suicide. He fed on fear – _thrived _on it. Being brave in his presence would be like taking his favoured drug away. And when you stopped being scared of him, he'd dispose of you. I'd figured that most people around the Joker _were _disposable. Why would I be any different?

In saying that, though – I doubted that I would get to the second one. Every time he came into my line of vision, my fear and panic came back full-force. So it'd be fine, for a while, at least. I would get out of here before he got bored of me.

I had to get away before Harvey found this place. I had to get him away from the Joker. I shuddered, remembering the threatening departing words that he'd left me. That was why I couldn't allow Harv to find me. The Joker_ would _shoot him down. And he'd do it without a single hesitation.

It was then that the door burst open.

I sat stiffly, my body tight, when a guy tumbled into the room. He was hissing angrily, muttering curse words under his breath as he staggered about. He was wearing a clown mask – so I couldn't tell what he looked like.

"Psychotic _freak," _The man grumbled, clutching his side. It was then I noticed that he was wounded. I watched, slightly shocked, at the fact that there was a gaping bullet wound in side.

"Um, are you okay?" I asked hesitantly. The guy's head snapped up, and his dark eyes bore into mine through the slits in his mask. I gulped.

"_You," _He snarled at me, "You're the _brat_ that the Joker's gone all crazy over. This is _your fault, bitch!" _I sat there, aghast, as he screamed at me, gesturing wildly at the bleeding hole.

"I am not a female dog," I grunted. And seconds later I regretted opening my big mouth.

In a flash, he had a silver gun pointing at me. I screwed my eyes shut, and heard him cock the gun. The sound echoed through the basement, as if it were taunting me.

"What are you on about, brat?" He growled, his voice cracking in pain at the end. I opened one eye to see him clutch his side suddenly. Blood seeped through his fingers, and dripped onto the floor in messy splodges.

"What's my fault?" I wondered, trying desperately to distract him from the firearm. "I've been here the whole time, tied up."

The man waved the gun around as he started to rant. "It's your goddamn fault! He says one little bad word about _Miss Abigail Dent, _and that _clown_ shoots him! He _kills _him!" He was screaming again. "And you know what? Then he shoots me, too!"

I stared, my mouth hanging open. "Who did the Joker kill?" I asked slowly, assuming. The man pointed the gun at me again. I shut my mouth.

"Oh, you wanna know what death you caused, bitch?" He laughed cruelly. "You really wanna know? 'Cause when you know, I'm gonna shoot you, too. Just like the Joker shot him. Just like he _killed him." _His voice was hysterical.

"I didn't cause any deaths!" I retorted, my frame trembling, half in anger, half in fear.

"Oh yeah?" He spat. "Tell that to my dead brother."

I bit my lip. "The Joker killed your brother?" I whispered. "Listen, I'm sorry, but that isn't my fault. The Joker's not right in the head, everyone knows that –"

"_Shut up!" _He roared.

The sound of a gun firing echoed through the basement.

I gasped, looking down at myself for any kind of bleeding, only to find there was none. Confused, I looked up. The world spun dizzily when realisation dawned on me. I hadn't been shot. There was another wound in the man, this time – straight through his heart. A clean shot.

I watched, horror-struck, as he swayed back and forth a few times, before crashing down onto the concrete with a loud thump. He was dead.

"Never liked him anyway," The Joker mused from the doorway, tucking the gun he'd just fired into his purple pocket. "And his brother was a coward. Begged for mercy, you know, _A-bi-gail."_

I wasn't sure whether I should thank the Joker for saving my life, or spit in his face for taking someone else's.

My eyes were glued onto the dead body. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I hadn't heard the Joker walk over to me. I only noticed when he crouched in front of me, blocking my view from the corpse.

"You alright there, darlin'?" He asked, his face suddenly serious. It was hard to tell whether he was faking his concern or not.

"He's dead," I whispered.

The Joker nodded, his black eyes staring me down curiously. "He is," He agreed, stating the obvious.

That was the first time I had ever seen someone die. I had grieved deaths, felt losses – but never had I witnessed a death right in front of my very own eyes. It chilled me to the bone. I was grateful, all of a sudden, that I had not glimpsed the man's face. It made his death just a tiny bit better to comprehend.

"Why did you kill his brother?" I asked the Joker, my gaze still on the dead man. I noticed him shrug in my side vision.

"He said he would 'gladly make you his whore'," The Joker replied, his jaw clenching slightly. "That uh, annoyed me. You're in my possession, not his."

I still couldn't look at him, even though he'd basically just named me his object. I couldn't find it within myself to snap back at him, or argue.

I heard the Joker sigh, and suddenly, his gloved hand shot up and curled around my chin. He forcefully moved my head so I'd face him. I didn't want to stare into those emotionless, black pools – but he kept my face locked in his grip.

"Are you, uh, okay?" He asked again, somewhat awkwardly. I didn't reply. He rolled his eyes, before ripping off one of his gloves and knocking on my forehead. "Hello? Anybody, uh, in there?"

I couldn't help but giggle at his antics. As soon as the breathy laughter had escaped my lips, I sewed them shut. But the Joker heard my laugh. He cocked his head to the side, a grin forming on his face.

"Laugh if you're, ah, _happy," _He said, his tone husky. The face he was pulling made me laugh again. I didn't know whether it was a mix of hysterics and fear, or just plain craziness. But I could not stop laughing.

"Y-you killed him!" I accused, trying sound angry. I was failing rather epically, due to the fact that small bouts of laughter kept escaping me.

"It's kinda hard to take you serious right now, dollface_-ah."_ He chuckled. "But then again, I never take people seriously."

It was then that the hysteria wore off, and the panic returned.

The Joker frowned, disappointed. "Where did uh, that lovely smile go, hm?" He asked me, bringing a pocketknife out from his inner jacket pocket, and clicking it open. I stared, horrified, as he angled it towards me. "Why so serious_-ah?"_

He didn't use the knife on me, though. I watched, surprised, as he sliced through the ropes holding me down onto the chair. Was he letting me go? Had he realised his wrong-doings, and giving me my freedom back?

I wasn't staying to see if he was. I hissed a little as the ropes fell around me – rope burn – but as they did, I jumped up onto the balls of my feet, and sprinted towards the door. Towards freedom!

Although my imaginations may have run wild a little bit more than usual. In reality, I hadn't even made it past the first step. The Joker was looming over me, cackling gleefully at the fact that I had tripped over my own feet – and was lying face down on the cold, dusty floor.

I groaned, rolling over to greet his pasty white face and dark, humour-filled eyes. I managed a scowl, but it was weak. I was exhausted, and the Joker could tell.

He chuckled, picking me up effortlessly and slinging me over his broad shoulder. I hissed in pain when my head hit the doorjamb as we exited the basement. I was fairly sure he'd done that on purpose.

"I'm assuming you aren't letting me go?" I mumbled hopefully. The Joker tightened his grip around the small of my back in response.

"Nope," He giggled as he sprinted up a set of dark stairs. I was a little surprised at his agility, especially while holding me – but then again, running around the streets of Gotham causing havoc wherever you went was sure to get you in shape.

"Where are you taking me then?" I moaned, not liking the fact that my face kept bashing off his hard – shockingly muscular – back. The Joker sighed this time.

"You wanna stay down there with the dead guy, beautiful?"

My silence was all he needed.

"Didn't think so," The Joker cackled.

* * *

**What did you think? Tell me what you think, guys! Review :')**

_**Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own Batman!**_


	6. Cold in the Darkness

**A/N: I know I haven't updated in a while… (cringes)**

**It seems like my teachers have all decided to gang up on me and dish out multiple tests before Christmas…**

**Anyway, read this and enjoy! The study books are calling me~**

* * *

Chapter Five

**Cold in the Darkness**

* * *

"_Nothing burns like the cold." _

― _George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones_

* * *

I had decided rather quickly that I much preferred the basement.

The small, closet-sized room he'd thrown me into felt more like my own personal prison cell. Whatever the Joker had used this space for – I certainly did not want to know. I tried to ignore the slightly faded red stains on the grimy walls, feeling the urge to gag everytime I glanced at it.

The floor was coated in a thick layer of age-old dust, and a few furry looking rats scurried about in the corner. It was a good thing I wasn't bothered by things like that – if Harvey saw a rodent that size, he'd be backed up against the wall screaming in terror.

There was a small, tatty old bed mashed up against the wall. It was on springs, of course – and looked like it would collapse as soon as I sat down on it. There were no mirrors in here, but I had a pretty gruesome idea of what I must have looked like – probably a more human version of Frankenstein's daughter.

The only plus side to this smelly old hole was the window. But I didn't need to go up to it and check to know that it was locked. The Joker may be crazy – but he wasn't stupid. He knew that I would have jumped at the chance to escape.

Although there was a window, it was, unfortunately, facing a hard brick wall. Perhaps, before carrying me on his back and tossing me into this dank room, he'd planned out how to slowly torture me, mentally. Maybe he'd thrown me in here for step one of his mental assaults. Where was the bright, blue sky? I'd go crazy if I sat here forever, in this prison. I'd go mad.

If I peered to the side of the window, I could just make out the long stretch of an alleyway that probably belonged to the Narrows. But I couldn't see anything else apart from that.

The fact that I could _hear _the passing cars and taxis and buses, and the schoolchildren and chattering people – idly making their way home from a long, exhausting day – that was hard to bear. I was _so close. _I just wanted to scream and shout, let them _know. _Let that know that I was here! That I was so very close to freedom – that they could _save me._

But what would they do when they found me?

They would be shot down by the Joker – as he had told me not long ago. No reason for me to needlessly bring innocents into this. I would find a way out myself. I _had_ to find a way out myself. No help this time from Rachel and no guidance from my brother. At least here I had a window – I had some idea of where I was. I was suddenly grateful that my brother had taught me a great deal about the Narrows – after he had locked away most of the mob, he'd lectured me many times.

"Many, _many _times," I muttered dryly, glaring through the window at the solid wall.

I sighed, and slid down the wall, not caring that the ripped wallpaper scratched irritatingly at my back. I wrapped my bare arms around my knees, and rested my chin on my kneecaps, trying desperately to ward off that faint chill. Not only was I lonely, scared, hungry and tired – but also cold now.

The Joker had left me here, claiming he had some kind of memorial to attend to. I had no idea what he'd want to attend _that _for – but his intentions were probably anything but good. I shuddered violently as I thought about it, unconsciously rubbing my arms to comfort myself.

I scanned the room quickly – not that it took very long – and my eyes landed on the raggedy old quilt that lay on the bed. I stood up, and walked over to it, eyeing it calculatedly. There were various holes in it where I was sure bugs and other critters had bitten through it, but other than that, it looked okay. My teeth were chattering, and the fleshy goosebumps were apparent on my skin. I needed _some _kind of warmth.

I yanked the heavy quilt off the bed, and shook it out, my eyes peeled for any nasty little creatures. There didn't seem to be any – maybe they'd all died out in this cold, oxygen-deprived room. The fact that living things before me had died in this room didn't help my self-confidence.

I sighed again, and walked back over to the wall, sitting back down. This time, though, I wasn't cold. I snuggled into the quilt, my body temperature already warming up the inside of the thick sheet. I wrapped myself in like a cocoon, and let my head fall back onto the wall.

* * *

The loud bang that ricocheted off the bare walls woke me up with a start.

The door that had made the startling sound screeched painfully on its hinges, and I watched, apprehensive, as somebody entered my little cell.

It was dark in the room, now. The only light was the shiny, silvery moonbeams that angled into the room through the window, giving the tiny closet-sized room an eerie feel to it. The rats scattered away on their grubby paws to hide from the person that had interrupted my nap.

_Click-clack – click clack, _and an expensive pair of black, leather shoes appeared in my sight.

"Well, don't you look _snug?" _

I grimaced. Somehow I'd hoped he wouldn't come back. Left me here to die of a lack of nourishment, or maybe stayed away until I'd slipped into his crazy mind-set – to become insane like him. Is that what he wanted? To drive me to the brink of insanity? Is _this _why he took me away from my brother, my friends – to create another monster, like him?

Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Either way, I needed to shut up with these delusions. _Shut up brain. You're no use._

Suddenly, though, I was in the air, being held up by the back of my neck. The quilt I'd been using slipped off my shoulders and fell to the floor beneath me. He slammed me up against the wall, his hand still stretched around my neck.

The Joker's coal eyes were wild, madder than usual. I shuddered.

"You wanna know what I did today, dollface_-ah?" _He giggled. I tried to look away from his crazy gaze, but his grip around my neck tightened. A clear threat. _Move and I'll choke the life out of you._

"You attended a memorial," I mumbled, glad when his hand loosened a little. The moon reflected off of left side of his face, outlining his sharp, clear-cut jaw and blood red lips, complete with the bulky knife scars.

"Yes," Said the Joker, "But do you know _which _memorial?"

When I thought about it, Harvey _had _mentioned something to do with the late Commissioner. Actually, hadn't he told me about that public service memorial for the late Commissioner? And that many people, including him, were attending?

Why would the Joker have wanted to attend that?

My stomach dropped as realisation hit. _Harvey was attending the memorial. _

"What did you do to my brother!" I all but screamed out, shocking the Joker momentarily. He gathered himself fairly quickly, though – and leaned in close to grin at me.

"Aw, _A-bi-gail," _He cooed, "I would _never _try and hurt the oh-so-important Harvey Dent_-ah." _

I flexed my jaw in anger. "Then what were you doing there, today?"

He stroked the left side of my face somewhat mockingly. "Can't an innocent citizen of Gotham attend a public service memorial for our _dear_ late Commissioner?"

I scowled. He gazed at me for a while longer, before sighing deeply. "You're no fun today, _ A-bi-gail." _I didn't say anything, but my scowl stayed firm in its place.

I noticed his black eyes wandering down to my arms. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes as he stroked my arm. He wasn't wearing gloves, and I watched as his hand brushed over the gooseflesh that had jumped out again from my lack of warmth. I eyed the fallen duvet wistfully.

"You're cold," He muttered quietly to himself. I arched my brows in surprise. "I _told _them to put the heating on." Suddenly, both his giant tanned hands were gripping my biceps, and a fierce, wild scowl adorned his features. He looked _furious. _

But then he was grinning again. It was an angry grin, though. And then the silver knife was in his hand, and the Joker was yanking me alongside him, out through the door and into more darkness.

"What are you doing?" I whispered urgently, my arms starting to hurt from his iron-grip. He ignored me.

We emerged not long later into another room, this one being much warmer than my rat-infested hole. There were a few ripped couches – but they looked much better than the breakable bed I'd had the option of sleeping on earlier. There was a small, fuzzy television in the warm room, and a mini kitchen in the corner.

There were several men in this room. I didn't need to see them wearing their clown-masks to know they were the Joker's goons. Why else would they be in his living room, sitting idly on the tattered couches?

"Who was in charge of heating the room Abigail was in?" The Joker asked sharply, catching the men's attention almost instantly. I was shocked to hear him speak so…well, _normally ._I don't think I'd heard him say my name without stressing out the syllables before. It was odd.

A few men stood up, others just turned their heads lazily. One guy, with a pockmarked face and saggy eyes, (he smirked at me lewdly before addressing the Joker) spoke. "That was me," He answered fearlessly.

He'd regret that. I don't think I'd ever seen the Joker look so livid before.

All of a sudden, the man had a knife in his mouth, and a snarling Joker in his face. _Now _he was scared. "Abigail is _cold," _The Joker growled. "Why is she cold?"

The man, once brave, was now cowering and trembling in fear. "I – I didn't turn the heating on. The bitch can sit in the cold for all I care. Right, lads?" He laughed nervously, hoping the goons around him would agree.

Nobody uttered a word.

It was good thing I didn't hear him scream. It was a good thing I'd shut my eyes before I saw it. But as the Joker pulled at my arm again, leading me elsewhere, I couldn't help but look behind me.

I wished I hadn't.

His cheeks had been savagely cut open. I fought not to throw up, trying desperately to concentrate on something else. The Joker kept muttering something about giving me warmer clothes as he pulled me along.

I don't think either of us noticed when his hand interlaced with mine.


	7. Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Six

**Catch Me If You Can**

* * *

"_But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in." _

― _Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao_

* * *

I had lost track of how long I had really been here.

It probably hadn't been long; two or so days at the most. Maybe three. But my mind made it seem agonizingly longer. It was like the worst minute of your life feeling more like an hour – it felt as though I'd been here for an eternity.

If the Joker was one thing, it was unpredictable. I still had no idea what he wanted with me – his answers were always so vague. It sounded as if he was as confused on the matter as_ I_ was. What _did _the Joker want with me? The obvious answer was that he probably wanted to use me to get to Harvey – lure him into a trap. Harvey _was _hated by every criminal, after all.

But my brother was smarter than that. He wouldn't waltz in willy-nilly, guns raised. No – he knew better than that. He'd plan things; make sure things were watertight before he tried anything. But I knew I couldn't let him do any of that. I would escape myself. Away from all the Joker's madness and insanity.

My eyes roved over my new prison. It was much nicer than the rat-hole I'd been in earlier. The advantages to this room were many. For a start, it was _warm. _The Joker had hastily made sure of this – he'd turned the radiator up to its highest temperature. There was also a comfy-looking double bed, (one with luminous green sheets and purple polka-dots, I'll add), and an en-suite bathroom – one which I had used as soon as I had been shoved into this room.

The downside to all of this? It was the _Joker's _room.

That pretty much overruled the advantages. Would I have to sleep in the same room as that psychopath? Who knew what he would do to me throughout the night?

But my sleeping arrangements in this place were of no concern to me. Today I would get myself out of here. No problem – I knew my way around the Narrows. Once I got myself out of here, I would catch a taxi, cross Gotham River over the bridge, get to Harvey's apartment, and bam – I was back home. I'd just Harvey to pay the taxi fee.

It sounded so very easy.

It felt like such a foolproof plan. Although, I knew, if Harvey were in my situation, he'd do a much better job. I tended to dive into things headfirst, never really thinking over the consequences. I was headstrong. On the other hand, Harvey was very calculative, very cunning. He always slaved over his work; he made sure things were perfect, infallible.

But, really – how hard could it _be? _The door to this room was unlocked – the Joker had been in too much of a hurry to attend some heist to even _consider _locking it. Ha! No _way _could some fragile little sister of the DA Harvey Dent escape, he probably thought.

Well, he was wrong. That clown-faced maniac would regret treating me lightly.

* * *

Night was slowly creeping upon the narrows, darkening the pink sky and turning the lilac clouds into black, eerie shapes, which floated ominously in the shadowed sky. The moon was absent this time; it hid behind the clouds, as though it were anticipating the events that were to occur that night.

I was ready. I had peeked out the Joker's door earlier, and the few goons – minus the one that had died – that were sitting in the main room were out like faulty lightbulbs. It was my chance to sneak past them, and run for it.

I had changed a while ago out of that hideous dress, the one I'd worn to the party Bruce had thrown – which seemed so very long ago. Reluctantly, of course, I screwed up the dress into a tight ball and shoved it into the small little bag I'd found in the bathroom. I would have preferred to leave it in the Joker's room, really. I hated dresses. But I knew Rachel would have a cow, so I took it anyway.

Surprisingly, amongst all the green waistcoats, dress shirts, and purple clothing in the Joker's wardrobe, I'd found a pair of trainers and grey sweats. Lovely. Perfect for jogging in. Anyhow, who knew the Joker _wore_ normal clothes? I couldn't possibly imagine him in grey joggies and trainers. It just didn't suit his façade. In fact, the Joker did seem to have a great number of normal-looking clothes.

Take, for instance, those modern looking high-tops in the corner. What on _earth _would he wear them for? And all those black and white t-shirts and jeans in the drawers – it looked as though the clown had some other life besides being a gun-obsessed psycho.

I shook my head, sighing at my train of thoughts. There was no way that a madman like him could have a normal side to him. No way. I shoved my arms through a brown coat I'd found in the mixture of clothing, and buttoned it hastily over the black shirt I'd gratefully stolen from him, too.

Hey, he wouldn't need it, right? For one, he wouldn't wear these clothes – and two, he had plenty others. The Joker wouldn't miss just a few items of clothing. Besides, what did I care? The Joker stole for a living. He could get a taste of his own medicine.

With a sharp, sure nod, I walked up to the door, and slowly opened it.

I peeked cautiously, taking note of the fact that his goons were snoring rather loudly. They were still out – good. I opened the door further, thanking the heavens that it didn't creak as I did so. With a final look back at my temporary prison, I crossed the threshold from his room and into the main room.

Despite the silence of the room, adrenaline coursed through my veins like wildfire. I had to force myself to tiptoe past the group of sleeping men, and not leg it like I felt like doing – that would only wake them from their slumber. I had to be patient.

I couldn't ruin everything now. I had to be careful.

I winced automatically when I stepped on a creaky floorboard, and glanced quickly up at the goons. No-one stirred. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, continuing my perilous trek across the _many _miles of wooden floor panelling.

Eventually, I made it to the next door. Without looking back, I twisted the doorknob and opened – dashing inside and shutting it behind me softly.

With a quick, frantic look in the directions on either side of me, I assessed my surroundings. I was in a hallway or sorts, a dark, dirty, browned-walled ratty looking hallway, that is.

Which way? Left or right…right or left? I knocked my brains for a logical way. If only I could have been conscious when they had dragged me here! Surely I would have some idea then what direction we had been heading in!

I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing my racing heart to slow, to let the calmness wash over me like a cooling wave. Now was not the time for fear. That came later.

I lifted my hands up, staring at them, palm upwards. I was left-handed – I always tended to take the left-side of things. I smiled, a memory triggering at this thought.

I remembered when I was only a child, when our mother and…_him -_had died in that car crash – Harvey and I had been taken to see a man not long later. With no living relatives to be sent to, the man had declared we would be sent to an orphanage. Before we went to live those five miserable years at the orphanage, though, the man had given us possession of our parents' things.

One of the possessions had been _his _coin – the very one he used to determine whether or not he'd beat us every night. Of course, what we didn't know was that the coin was double-headed. No matter what side it flipped onto, _he _would get the sick pleasure to beat us till we were black and blue.

I shuddered. I hated relieving those terrifying memories. I kept my mind on that day, thinking back to the other possession he'd shown us. The ring our mother always kept with her – the one she'd gotten specifically made with words carved on it when I was born.

_H and A, my little angels. _

Those were the six beautiful words she'd engraved into the thick, silver band. She loved us more than life, we were her little angels. A lump rose in my throat as the memories of her tried to resurface, but I shoved them back down into that little mental cage. Where they belonged.

We both wanted the ring. Why would we even _want _to touch _his _disgusting, grimy little coin? The very thing that he had used to hurt us, torture us. Break us.

I wanted to throw away the coin, into Gotham River, where it could sink and lie in the murky depths forever. But Harvey had had other ideas. He took both of these possessions – one precious, and one which felt like a bad omen – into each of his hands. I had watched, a mere seven year old, transfixed – as he hid both fisted hands behind his back.

Harvey had asked me to choose a hand. He claimed that it was the only _fair _way of deciding things.

So, naturally, I picked the left hand. And I received my mother's ring. I looked at my left hand again, smiling at the shiny, silvery ring around my index finger. I never, ever took it off. Of course, when I needed to shower and sleep I did, but apart from that, it was constantly there – on my left index finger.

Harvey, of course, got _his _evil little coin. I couldn't understand, though, to this day why he'd kept it. If it was me, I'd have thrown it in some deep, dark pit – where it could never return, where I'd never have to see it again. But Harvey didn't want that. For some reason I couldn't possibly fathom, Harv kept it so he could decide things. Instead of rock-paper-scissors, instead of eeny-meeny-miny-moe, he flipped our abusive father's double-headed coin to make those decisions.

I clenched my fist, glaring determined holes into the floor. It was time to get out of here now, before the Joker returned.

With a sure smile on my face, I took the left route.

The left corridor stretched on for what seemed like an eternity – but when I finally reached the end, there was an exit. I wanted to laugh, to cry with joy – but first, I had to find a means of escaping the Narrows. I could have run across the bridge, but I had no energy left for that. It was a struggle just keeping my feet planted on the ground. I was hungry, too. My stomach rumbled painfully at this revelation, but I paid no mind to it.

So, as my plan had dictated, I'd take a taxi. There were plenty of those around the Narrows – I just had to hang in there until I found one.

I stepped out into the cold air through a set of iron, rusted doors. When I turned back to look, I realised my prison was in fact a humongous, desolate warehouse. So now I knew where the Joker hid! I had so much information to give my DA older brother – we could finally lock up that madman, with the help of the GCPD.

I walked briskly down the empty, dark road, snuggling further into my thin brown coat as I walked. I just had to keep walking – civilisation wasn't hard to find here. I was in the more sinister part of the Narrows. Once I got closer to the bridge, there would be an abundance of taxis.

It wasn't long until I could very clearly see Gotham Bridge. It was very easy to spot the big, red bridge, which very subtly arched over the inky black Gotham River. My walking pace quickened, my stride fixed. I _just _had to reach the bridge…

I was very surprised when a black car seemed to appear out of nowhere. I watched, slightly wary, as it rolled along with me. It wasn't hard to see that it was in fact a taxi. But I was apprehensive: I knew enough to know that they didn't run in these parts. This was the more sinister part, remember?

I frowned when the front window rolled down. I couldn't see the person's face, as it was hidden in shadow.

"Need a ride, sweetheart?" I heard the person ask – definitely a male. "You look a little dead on your feet there."

I chuckled humourlessly. "Slightly," I returned, my teeth chattering. I saw the man reach over to unlock the passenger side door. Why it was locked in the first place, I'd never know.

"I'll give you a ride to wherever you need, doll," He promised. "Free of charge." My eyes widened speculatively. _Free of charge? _Now that was suspicious. Nobody, especially in the Narrows, would even _think _of giving something away free.

But then came the reasoning: I was tired, hungry, and cold. The taxi looked warm and inviting, the man seemed nice, suspicious or not. All I had to do was jump in, tell him where to take me, and I was scot-free. It was so very simple.

I bit my lip, swaying slightly on the balls of my feet in my indecision. Should I take this man's offer? Or keep going, following the dark river towards Gotham Bridge?

Suddenly, the man sighed. "Gosh, sorry lady, but I can't wait here all evening. I gotta go," He prompted. "Wife to greet, kids to see… you know how it goes."

My heart leapt up to my throat. I couldn't let my only chance escape! I rushed over to the car, yanking it open. I almost toppled over in my haste. I wasn't sure, but as I climbed into the taxi, I was almost certain I heard the man snicker – as though he'd told a funny joke.

As I shut the door closed next to me, the man spoke again.

"You're so gullible, my little _A-bi-gail."_

I heard the lock click on the door next to me.

The man swivelled around in his seat, and, in the car's light, I could clearly see his face this time. A pale face – red, scarred lips, dark bottomless eyes, and a grin so scarily mischievous that it laid no doubt in my mind that I was trapped.

I wanted to die right then and there. How could I have been so _stupid?_

"Time to go home!" I heard the Joker cackle as we made a jerky U-turn, and sped down the shadowy street, back towards my personal nightmare.

* * *

**This one was fun to write, actually. Tell me what you think:) **

**P.S. – Anyone notice the Bane quote I slotted into this chapter? **


	8. Lies and Betrayal

Chapter Seven

**Lies and Betrayal**

* * *

_Is it possible to succeed without any act of betrayal?_

_-Jean Renoir_

* * *

With an enraged snarl, the Joker shoved me up against the side of the black car – one hand gripped tightly around my neck, the other clutching his serrated butterfly knife. I watched the moonlight glint off the silvery steel of the knife, trying desperately to avoid looking into his black, burning orbs, which gazed at me with such fierceness that it would have made the strongest-willed man alive tremble.

It was astonishing just how quick his mood could change.

It was not long ago, while he had sped down the darkened street at an alarming rate while humming delightedly – that he had been somewhat bearable. A happy Joker. A happy Joker was a safe Joker.

However; not long later, when he had stopped the car outside that miserable warehouse – his ecstatic mood had vanished, like the passing of a tide. It was rather frightening, to watch his eyes blacken with such hate, to see his red mouth curl up into a mocking sneer.

He slammed the door with such intensity that it shook the entire car – me with it. Then my door, with a click and a pop of the safety locks, had been yanked open. The Joker dragged me out, and slammed me up against the car, my back bashing off the passenger window with an audible thump. My spine was sure to hurt the next morning.

That is, if I _lived _to see the morning.

Already I was accepting my fate; I would die here, under this psychopath's hands. He wanted to rip, tear, _maim – _I could see the idea swirling in his depths, roaring and plundering, demanding him to _kill. _

He would kill me.

I wasn't much of a religious person – but I prayed that night. It wasn't much. God and I never really got along – I was certain I was not one of his favourite followers. Even so, I muttered a few words. A few pleas before I died.

I asked the Big Man very politely if he could look over Harvey while I was rotting in Hell, (I certainly wasn't going to Heaven, for sure). He needed to make sure my big idiot of a brother finally grew some balls and proposed to Rachel.

He was blind as a bat sometimes – it was obvious Bruce Wayne was just waiting to snatch her out of his hands and into his rich grubby paws. I saw the way he looked at her that night – at the party – it was a look of longing, hope, _love. _

He had to make the move, because I sure as hell wasn't gonna be here to save his sorry ass. If he missed his chance, I was dragging him down into the pit with me. I'm sure he'd regret it after spending some quality time with Satan.

Eh, what was I kidding? Harvey was going to Heaven – halos and all. He was too much of a good guy. With a final awkward nod at the air, I left my mutterings at a standstill.

"What _are _you uh, doing?"

I snapped my head up to see the Joker, his eyes wide with bewilderment and incredulity. I sent him my best scowl. "Praying," I answered simply.

Of course, the Joker burst out into laughter at this. His cackles and hoots echoed through the night, probably sending a chill down the spines of people who heard the unnatural sound. "Now what would _you _be praying for, dollface?"

"None of your business," I replied coldly, sending him a narrowed glare.

The Joker cut off his laughter abruptly, noticing my hardened gaze. Immediately, his face was in my face again, his yellow teeth bared in fury. His gloved hand shot up to the back of my head, and tore at my hair – yanking my head backwards painfully. I managed to hold in a shriek of pain.

"Watch what you, uh, say, _A-bi-gail," _He growled. "I could disfigure that pretty little face of yours, you know. Mash it up a bit!" – He twirled his knife suggestively – "Permanently scar you for punishment – like me! Haha!"

"Punishment?" I hissed, trying to ignore the stinging pain in my scalp. I was sure it was bleeding now.

"Yes," He snapped. "You, uh, _ran away."_

I rolled my eyes, despite my predicament. "And I wonder why," I muttered lowly. The Joker gave another sharp tug on my hair. My heartbeat started to race in fear when he brought the knife up to my mouth. I was going to die.

I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for death to embrace me.

To my surprise, though, I didn't feel the horrendous, agonising pain that was supposed to happen after slicing my cheeks. Instead, I felt warm, soft skin, caressing my still scar-free cheek. I opened my eyes, half-expecting for him strike as I did.

But the Joker's deadly, serrated knife was gone – tucked away safely in one of his purple pockets. The crazy psycho was looming over me, an odd expression on his face, as he softly stroked my right cheek.

"I couldn't possibly ruin such beauty," The Joker whispered, his giant, tanned hand lingering for a few moments on my skin, before pulling away. I gaped at him, beyond words with shock. I had certainly not expected that. Harvey always told _me _the Joker was a ruthless murderer who even killed little children.

The man standing in front of me looked anything but a child serial killer.

Perhaps they had gotten their facts wrong? Maybe, deep inside, he just wanted others to like him. Maybe he was bullied when he was a kid – maybe he wanted to show others he wasn't weak. The Joker wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he was saner that most people thought.

Suddenly, though, a mad grin lightened up the Joker's features.

"Looks like I need to give you another punishment!" He cackled, a scary glint in his black depths. "I haven't had enough, uh, mental torture for today."

Okay, scratch that. He was completely and utterly off his bloody rockers.

* * *

With a rough shove, the Joker pushed me down onto the dusty couch. I was back in this place – the warehouse. He'd dragged me back in, and into the living room for my 'mental torture' as he put it.

Unfortunately, I was sitting next to one of his goons. He was a big, burly man – with tattoos and muscles so large that they reminded me of mini mountains. _He _was obviously used for the more violent heists. I wasn't judging, but he didn't seem like one of the smart guys who did the entire bank hacking thing.

Or maybe I was just saying that because he was ogling at me in not a very nice way at all. None of the goons in the room had their masks on, so I could all very clearly see their faces. The muscled man sitting next to me had a shaved (or perhaps balding) head.

I tried shuffling away from this big brute of a man. I certainly didn't like the way that he was smirking at me now, and I was half-tempted to tell him to say _eyes up here. _However, his sweaty, chubby hand grabbed my wrist, attempting to pull me into him.

Faster that lightning, the man was ripped away from me and thrown mercilessly into the wall. He crashed into the hard plaster with a resounding thwack, and slid down to the floor, unconscious.

I stared wide-eyed at a snarling Joker. Sometimes, I forgot just how ridiculously strong he was. It was hard to see if he had any muscles of his own, as he was always wearing that purple trench coat.

The clown, with a lasting look at the man, (the other goons had all discreetly backed away from the scene), plopped down beside me on the couch. He was still growling, his teeth bared as though he were a wolf. I was contemplating on whether I should ask him what that was all about, but I kept my mouth sewn shut. He looked pretty unstable right now – no need to rile him up more.

The Joker reached his arm over my shoulders to grab the remote near me, but stopped when he saw what I was wearing.

"Are those, uh, my _clothes, _dollface?" He asked incredulously. I couldn't find it within myself to care. They were just clothes – he had abundance of them anyway.

I nodded. "I wasn't going to stay in that dress," I replied quietly. The Joker's stormy attitude fled like a passing wind, and his face brightened up in amusement or happiness – it was hard to tell. He was probably both, for which I had no idea why.

He didn't say anything else as he switched on the TV, but that bright grin was still on his face, stretching up his red-painted scars as he smiled. I watched him, wary, as he clicked buttons on the remote, his thumb moving quickly over the plastic surface.

Finally, he stopped clicking. The Joker turned to face me, his smile suddenly a devilish smirk. "Time to mess up your brain a bit, _A-bi-gail."_

I eyed him, confused, until he nodded at the TV. I turned my head to see a recording of sorts – of some kind of press conference. But what surprised me about this, was the fact that my brother was in it. Well, that shouldn't really have surprised me – he was the DA after all. _I guess I'm just missing him, _I thought glumly.

Harvey was standing straight, looking smart in a grey suit over the podium. He looked tired, as though he'd been up late during the night. There were deep bags under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his forehead seem to press together permanently as he frowned.

He was facing a sea of people, who looked like they wanted answers.

"Time to press play!" The Joker sang. I heard a click, and the recording played.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming," I heard my brother speak. "I've called this press conference for two reasons. Firstly, to assure the citizens of Gotham that everything that can be done over the Joker killings is being done."

I heard the Joker scoff next to me. I looked over at him as he leant back on his hands, watching the recording in something close to boredom. He saw me looking, and glanced over at me, winking. "You don't wanna miss this, dollface," He told me.

I frowned, but looked back at the press conference with my brother in it.

"Secondly," Harvey called over the ruckus, trying to calm the chattering crowds, "The Batman has offered to turn himself in. But first, let's consider the situation. Should we give in to this terrorist's demands? Do we really think that he's gonna –" Some lady in the crowd interrupted him, effectively cutting off Harvey's words.

"Rather protect an outlaw vigilante, than the lives of _citizens?"_

The Joker was laughing next to me, obviously finding this whole situation amusing. I tried to ignore him, concentrating on my brother's words. Being here had made me miss a lot. Usually I was up to date with the crime happenings in Gotham, thanks to Harvey. But, the _Batman_ turning himself in? There was a _lot _I was out of loop with.

"The Batman is an outlaw," Harvey called over the ruckus, still looking slightly miffed at being interrupted, "But that's not why we're demanding he turn himself in – we're doing it because we're scared. We've been happy to let the Batman clean up our streets for us until now."

I let a small smile worm itself onto my face. My brother always was a brave person. Ever since father – ever since _then,_ he'd been so very strong, never running away from his problems, never quitting. That was why he was Gotham's White Knight.

"Things are worse than ever!" Some guy yelled in the back crowds, and people nodded at his words, murmurings of agreement filtering through the crowd.

"Yes – they are," Harvey agreed, suddenly looking worn out. I felt bad for him – he must have been going through a tough time. It couldn't have helped his case that I was missing, either. "The night is darkest before the dawn. I promise you, the dawn_ is_ coming."

Jeez, he definitely knew how to inspire. His wording was powerful – I even felt the chills of awe, even in _this _craphole. I was proud of my brother. He'd come a long way. If this was the Joker's idea of trying to 'mess' my brain up – it wasn't a very good one. It only made me happy to see Harvey up there.

"One day," Harvey continued – every person in the audience was listening with rapt attention – "The Batman will have to answer for the laws he's broken – but to us – _not _to this madman." I glanced over at the Joker again, and noticed, with a jolt of shock, that he was looking at _me. _I hadn't even felt his gaze on me – I had been so involved with my brother's speech.

The way he was looking at me unnerved me. It was as if he was waiting for me to react to something bad. I looked back at the recording.

"No more dead cops!" Another guy in the throng of people shouted – a policeman, this time. The crowd agreed heartily with him, some even clapping vigorously. I saw a bead of sweat trickle down Harvey's temple. I fought the urge not shout pointlessly at the television; I didn't like the fact that my brother was getting stressed out.

"He should turn himself _in!" _A man yelled, and the audience expressed their agreement again.

Harvey looked lost. I watched him, wondering how he would deal under all that pressure. The people of Gotham could be fierce when they wanted to be – especially the press – they were animals when it came to gossip.

_Keep it together, Harv, _I found myself chanting, _you're stronger now._

Suddenly, Harvey faced a group of police officers. He face had drawn blank, emotionless. I didn't like that – that wasn't my Harvey.

"So be it," He whispered, resigned. "Take the Batman into custody."

My eyes widened in shock. Did Harvey _know _who the Batman was?! Why hadn't he told me? I felt a little angry – I thought we were closer than that.

But then he said something that made my whole word spin wildly out of control. Something that broke my heart and gave me a sense of such strong betrayal and hurt that I felt like curling up and screaming into my knees.

"I am the Batman," Harvey Dent told the crowds. And I watched, horror-struck and heartbroken as my brother was put in cuffs and led away by cops. Had he lied to me all this time? It felt as though my heart had been ripped out my chest. Betrayal _hurt. _

I knew, right then, that the Joker had gotten what he wanted.

* * *

**I don't know about you guys, but betrayal is the worst kind of emotion for me. I know, it's not _the _most interesting chapter, but trust me when I say this story IS going somewhere.**

**I _always _have a plan! Bwahaha! (Usually...) **

**I estimate that my next chapter shall be on Christmas day! But don't expect any chapters early in the morning, for I shall be opening presents :D**

**Uhhm, anyways, hope you enjoyed. Review, my reviewers. **

**Au revoir!**


	9. Jack

**Merry Christmas! Ha! I did say I'd have a chapter in by Xmas day, didn't I? Didn't I?**

**I get overly excited for Christmas…when really I should **_**not **_**x_x**

**Despite this I still have my "Chanukah" tree (note: sarcasm) ****  
**

* * *

Chapter Eight

**Jack**

* * *

_I want my food dead. Not sick, not dying, dead._

_-Oscar Wilde_

* * *

I stared blankly up at the ceiling, my head hanging carelessly over the side of the Joker's bed. I noted dismally the rips and tears in the browning wallpaper, but I couldn't really bring myself to care that the ceiling could collapse and crash down on me at any given moment.

I was beyond caring.

On the outside, I may have looked emotionless, bored. But on the inside, my mind was a swirl of frantic emotions. I felt betrayed, hurt, _angry. _How long had Harvey kept this a secret from me? That he was the _Batman? _Why had he kept it a secret from me? I had always assumed that we were two peas in a pod – him and I.

_Obviously not, _my mind spat back at me, furiously. Really, I should have been angry at the Joker, for showing me that. This was what he wanted, wasn't? He wanted me to start distrusting my brother. I _knew _what he was doing – I wasn't an idiot. He wanted to create a divide between me and Harvey.

I wouldn't allow that. The Joker would _not_ tear us apart. Sure, I felt broken and betrayed, angry at my own brother for lying – but I could learn to live with it. I could learn to live with his secret. The Joker had gotten what he wanted – temporarily – but _I was strong. _He would not make me fall into any kind of crazy depression, or make me hate my brother.

A smile wormed itself onto my face. Yes, I _was _strong. Harvey and I were strong. Any obstacle we faced, we would overcome it. We always had, even before our parents' death. Even when father beat us every night and –

_No._

I stopped myself right there. Thinking about those nights wouldn't bring me any justice. With a ragged sigh, I got up from the bed, and stretched. As I did, a loud frightening growl ripped through the silent room, penetrating the quiet atmosphere instantly.

I was scared for half a second, before realising, with a smack to my forehead, that it was my stomach making the rumblies.

Really, it was a surprise I had even made it alive to this point. Most people in my situation would have died or something by now – but by sheer luck I was _alive. _I definitely wasn't one of those brave heroines who kicked the villain's ass and saved the day. I was one of those forgotten cowards who ran away at the opportune moment.

I wouldn't have even really given myself the title 'sidekick' – because sidekicks required bravery, which I certainly did not have.

My stomach growled again, reminding me that I hadn't eaten in quite a long while. I'd really been too occupied in saving my own behind. If it was Harvey locked up in this stuffy old room, he'd be making plans to find out as much he could about the Joker and his lackeys. Food would be the _last_ thing on his mind.

* * *

Obviously the Joker was too preoccupied with creating havoc on this fine evening, because when I creeped out the bedroom, he was nowhere in sight – aside from the odd lackey dotted about the room. Apparently, luck was not on my side today, because a goon noticed me the moment I stepped out the door.

"What are you up to?" He grumbled suspiciously, raising his head from a crumpled newspaper. I straightened up and smiled nervously.

"Food," I answered, pointing a thumb in the general direction of the kitchen. The goon narrowed his eyes, and stood up, his posture defensive. I rolled my eyes. What did he expect me to do? Claw his eyes out?

"How did you get out?" He asked me, warily. I pursed my lips at his stupidity.

"The door was unlocked," I replied nonchalantly. The goon looked like he wanted to say something about that, but I beat him to it. "The Joker probably knew I'd get hungry at some point, and left it open." I said quickly. My stomach rumbled again.

The goon seemed to contemplate this for a few moments. "But he told _us _to make sure you didn't leave his room," He said, crossing his beefy arms. I grimaced.

"All I want is some food," I whined like a child, clutching my stomach. I noticed a subtle flinch in his posture. Ahh – time to use that to my advantage. I widened my eyes innocently and stuck out my bottom lip – this _always _worked on Harvey. He was the biggest suck-up for puppy-dog faces…

"_Please?" _I whispered, fluttering my eyelashes for extra effect. "I'm really, _really _hungry." The goon hadn't quite melted yet, but his eyes had softened considerably. He was on the borderline to becoming mush (bwahaha).

"Well, um, why don't you go back into the room?" The goon suggested, looking extremely awkward. "I'll bring something in for you. That way we both won't get in trouble if the boss comes back."

I internally applauded his efforts on compromising, but I was a stubborn bitch.

I let my eyes shine over with a fresh coat of tears, allowing my bottom lip to quiver at the same time. Oh yeah. He'd crumble and fall to pieces now. I was doubly sure of myself. The goon _did _look like he was about to cave.

"I can make her something," A deep, husky voice interrupted us. I forced myself not to hiss in frustration. The goon immediately snapped out of it. He swivelled round to face the talker. "Just go back to your reading," The voice continued, mockingly.

The goon tensed up in surprised annoyance. "How the hell did _you _get out, too?" He muttered. "Did the boss leave every hostage's door open?"

I peered round the goon's frame to see a man, who looked maybe around Harvey's age – mid-twenties or so. I would be lying if I said he wasn't handsome. He was tall, lean and tanned – three perfect traits combined. There was no mistaking the lovely six-pack through that tight black shirt of his, and his well-defined biceps.

The man had a sharp, cutting jaw and high cheekbones, giving him a distinct, clear look. His scrupulous features would have made any other man look intimidating, but his soft brown eyes made him seem nicer, friendlier. He had dark blonde hair, which hung around his face in messy, sandy tendrils.

The handsome stranger's ruby red lips stretched up his tanned face when he saw my head peeking round the goon's body. He winked at me surreptitiously, before addressing the none-too-pleased goon.

"I can cook," He continued, his voice still a deep tone. He was a few inches taller than the muscled goon, allowing him to look down upon the man. I watched him smirk; obviously knowing himself the advantage this gave him. The goon _did _look more than ruffled.

"How did you get out?" The goon repeated, reaching for a gun at his waist. The man rolled his eyes, looking unsurprised at this turn of events. I narrowed my eyes at this devilishly pretty stranger. Was he asking to be shot? I'd abandon the cockiness in a heartbeat to save my own hide.

I heard a grunt from the ripped couches, and an older looking goon paced over to us. He laid a hand on the younger goon's shoulder, and shook his head. This, thankfully, stopped him from potentially blasting the handsome guy's brains all over the wallpaper in nice messy splodges.

"It's fine. The Joker allows him to walk about," The older goon grunted, and my raised my eyebrows in surprise. The Joker let one of his hostages walk _about? _Those two must have been pretty tight-knit, then. Maybe this guy developed a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. But, then again…with the _Joker? _Ew.

I mentally chided myself. Why did I think of these kinds of things?!

"He's a _hostage," _The goon with the gun said, exasperated. "He could escape!"

"I wouldn't really call him a hostage," The older guy muttered, glancing over at the handsome guy – whose smirk widened indefinitely when we looked over at him. "He's been here so long, he's more like a…um…"

"Reluctant guest?" I offered dryly from behind the goon's back. Handsome guy peered over his shoulder at me and grinned, showing off his pearly whites. I almost swooned. Almost.

"Uh, sure. Yeah. Reluctant guest, whatever," The older goon waved his hand in dismissal. "Just don't shoot a bullet through his head if you do see the kid about. Boss is pretty fond of him." Then he trudged off to do whatever a goon does at this hour.

The younger goon sighed. "Go make the girl some food then," He mumbled. Handsome guy just watched him, a wide grin on his face. Creepy.

Younger goon made a face. "Can you, um, not stare at me like that, kid?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. "It's kinda unnerving."

"Then don't stare back," Handsome guy returned, his brown eyes alight with mischief. He watched him like a hawk. "Then it won't be as…_unnerving_."

Both guys stood there, one of them unnecessarily staring, the other swaying about awkwardly, trying and failing to avoid the unnecessary staring.

I rolled my eyes, sighing. Feh.

I decided to go to the kitchen myself. _Honestly,_ men and their testosterone-fuelled stare-downs. However, before I passed them, a nice, muscly arm shot out in front of me, blocking my way. I looked back into the tanned face of the smirking handsome guy. I arched my brows challengingly.

"I said I would cook for you," He told me. Was that arrogance I heard in his tone? _Well._

I crossed my arms, my eyes narrowed to slits. "I can very well cook myself, thank you very much." Handsome guy roved his gaze down me then up again, before grinning slyly at me. My jaw dropped. The nerve!

I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my hand before I could hear that satisfying smack. He raised a blonde eyebrow.

"No need to get angry," He said huskily. My lips thinned. I switched my gaze over to the side – but the young, awkward goon had fled the scene. Handsome guy's fingers laced through mine, and he started pulling me towards the kitchen.

"What are you going to cook?" I muttered, defeated. Just give me food! He led me over to a stool and shoved me down onto it. _Hm, what a gentlemen_. I watched him as he flittered about the tiny kitchen, retrieving a wok (who knew the Joker kept a wok?) and several packets of ingredients from the fridge.

He didn't answer me as he worked, but I had a pretty good idea of what he was making. "Stir-fry?" I tried. He grunted something unintelligible. I sighed, choosing to keep quiet instead. Guess he wasn't much of a talker. Shame – the ladies would be falling at his feet.

I snorted. _Not me, _I thought smugly.

It was only later when the sounds of sizzling chicken and rice and the wonderful aroma of stir-fry could be smelt that he spoke.

"My name is Jack," He told me, turning round with a plate in his hand. He put two plates down on the table, one for me and one for him. I'll admit that it looked delicious.

"Nice to meet you, Jack," I replied, lifting my eyes to peer at him. I was a little disturbed to see that his eyes were boring into me. His gaze was pretty intense, so much so, it made his eyes seem darker.

I looked away first, picking up my fork as I did so. But I still felt his burning stare.

I cleared my throat. "Thanks for this," I told him, opting not to look up. The younger goon was right – his stare _was _unnerving. Especially if the full force of it was trained on you.

"No problem," Jack replied, his deep voice just a tad softer. I was about to dig in to this amazing dish – to let my tastebuds soar with happiness – but his hand shout out _again _to lock around my wrist. I growled and glared up at his forehead.

I only realised a few seconds later that he was chuckling. My God, that chuckle was _sexy._

_No, no! Bad Abby! Bad girl!_

"You can look at me, you know," Jack teased, laughing lightly. I huffed, letting my gaze drop down. His eyes were lighter now, not as creepy. I frowned at him, and tried to pull my hand away. His grip just tightened.

"What?" I asked distastefully. Jack just grinned at my annoyance.

"Aren't you going to say grace?"

"What?" I repeated dumbly. Jack rolled his eyes.

"To say grace. Bless this meal." My mouth must have resembled a very embarrassing O-shape, because he was laughing again.

"Er, right. Yeah." I used to say grace before meal times with my family – but that was before my mother and father died. Harvey and I lost faith after that. It was oddly nostalgic. Though times back then were pretty rough for Harvey and me – it was one of the better memories. Jack removed his hand after that, and he clasped his hands together. I followed.

After saying grace, Jack (finally) let me eat. It was a good thing to, because my stomach sounded like an angry lion on a rampage. I think Jack could hear it, judging by the wide, arrogant smirk on his face. Jeez.

"I think you should go back to your room, now," Jack said after we had finished. "The Joker is coming back soon."

I set my fork down. "How do you know?" I sighed, rubbing my full stomach. Jack shrugged, an odd glint in his eye.

"I just do," He replied mysteriously. Ugh. He was staring at me creepily again.

"Right-o," I said nervously. Anything to get away from that god awful _stare. _"Nice to meet you Jack," I told him again, walking back towards my temporary (but comfortable) prison.

"Nice to meet you too, Abigail," I heard him say back.

It wasn't until much, much later – that I wondered how he had known my name when I had never told him it.

* * *

**P.S. – I'm still laughing my ass off at that quote xD**

**P.S.S – MERRY CHRISTMAS:)**

**P.S.S. S – Never try to edit stories at quarter to eleven at night, because they **_**will **_**resemble a form of gibberish (maybe that's just me? Haha). **


	10. Rage

**Finally, guys, a chapter! Review and tell me what you think:)**

**Enjoy ~**

* * *

Chapter Nine

**Rage**

* * *

_Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends?_

_-George Eliot_

* * *

What do you hear when you wake up in the morning?

Do you hear the sound of birds singing in that old oak tree at the back of your garden? Maybe the sounds of a sizzling pan are the first things that reach your sensitive ears. Or, perhaps, the sounds of your little brother or sister stomping about the house are the first things you have the unpleasant surprise of hearing. On the other hand, if you have no siblings – you may hear the gentle morning murmurings of your parents.

In my case, of course, I usually heard my older brother bustling about, getting ready for work. It was better on his days off – the sound of a sizzling pan was always good on my ears. No bickering younger siblings or gentle murmurings of parents, obviously – both did not exist in _my _life.

But in yours? Well, who knows? That's for you to know, not me.

However, I will tell you, that the morning I woke up to the sounds of somebody singing in my ear was not something I had ever experienced before. And trust me when I say it was most definitely not a sweet lullaby.

My eardrums burned with a ferocity in which I had never felt before, and I flinched back at whoever was stupid enough to scream like that in my ear. My eyes snapped open. Icy-blue orbs met dark, pitch black ones.

The Joker grinned back at me on the bed, his head lying on the pillow that mine had previously been on. His garish hair lay in greasy strands over the once white pillow – which was now smudged red and black from his facepaint. Today he was wearing a blue button-up shirt, patterned with hexagons. His sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and he wore an unusual tie. Of course, he was wearing purple pants and colourful socks. I noticed a discarded green vest on the edge of the bed, and a pair of brown shoes lay near the door.

"Did you, uh, enjoy my singing, doll?" He asked, grinning widely. He wiggled his multicoloured-socked feet as he said this.

I scowled. "It was excruciatingly bad." I rubbed my throbbing ear for good measure. The Joker rolled his eyes, and my unimpressed features caused my scowl to deepen. His good mood was irritating me. Or maybe it was just because I wasn't a morning person.

"Why on earth did you scream in my ear like that?" I hissed, scooting back when the clown tried to bring me into him with his arm. The Joker pouted looking down at his hands like a scolded child might. I wasn't expecting what came next, however. The Joker flashed his eyes up to mine, and leapt forward. I squealed in fright when his arms snaked around my waist, and this time, he _did _bring me up against his chest.

I would be lying if I said it felt unpleasant. His arms were so very muscly –

_Halt those thoughts!_

The Joker smirked down at me knowingly. I stiffened in his arms when I felt his hand brush over a silver of skin on my back that the black shirt hadn't fully covered. I tried to extract my arms from his embrace so I could pull my top down my back. Dignity, please.

The Joker chuckled, and tightened his grip, keeping my arms locked against his chest. His hand stayed in place on my back, and he casually started to rub little circles into the showing skin. I wriggled against him, hating how he could easily overpower me like this. I stopped abruptly when I heard the Joker moan throatily.

"Keep, uh, doing that dollface. It's rather nice_-ah." _

I blushed furiously, half embarrassed, half angry. I was just glad I'd decided to _keep _my grey sweats on to sleep. "You're disgusting," I growled. I decided to stay as still as possible. I didn't need _that _kind of reaction out of him.

The Joker chuckled again, and his hand slowly ascended up my back. "You're the one, ahh, sleeping in _my _bed, doll."

I frowned. "There was nowhere else," – I 'eeped' in shock when his fingers brushed my bare back – "And could you please remove your arm from under my shirt?"

The Joker grinned again, showing off those _attractive _yellow teeth. "Don't, uh, pretend you aren't enjoying it, _A-bi-gail."_ He took one look at my grimace and laughed. I felt it rumble through his chest. "And there _was _a spare bed in the corner, dollface." He gestured his head at a wooded panel that seemed to jut out from the wall.

_A pull-down bed, _I thought glumly. _I wouldn't be in this position right now if I'd used that._

"Right, well then. I think I'll move over there, instead," I said quickly. The Joker didn't budge an inch, and his hand still lingered on my skin, leaving an unwanted tingling feeling on my flesh.

"Ah-ta-ta," He warned me, his black eyes boring into mine, "You aren't going anywhere. You should _listen_ to me more. You don't wanna anger me, doll." He squashed his nose against mine, and I could feel his hot breath. We were close enough to kiss.

I struggled against him again. I didn't care about brushing against certain…areas, as long as I got to be as far away from the Joker as possible. The fact that I was still straining to get away seemed to make him angry. Suddenly, I felt his nails dig into my back – no more the gentle caress. I winced inwardly when he snarled in my face.

"I _told _you not to anger me," The Joker hissed. I swallowed quietly, keeping my body still again. He reminded me too much of a ticking timebomb – one wrong move, and _boom, _he was set off. In a flash, I was sitting up, my back against the front headboard, and the Joker's large hand wrapped around my neck.

"Alright, I'm sorry," I gasped, clawing at his one hand with both of mine. The Joker seemed to assess my sincerity, before he seemed to deflate – almost like a balloon losing air – and his hand slackened. Though I didn't move away – I wouldn't dare make any sudden movements until I knew he'd gotten over his rage.

The Joker patted my head, stood up, and stretched. I gaped at him, still at a loss at how he could change his mood so quickly. Why had fate decided to bring me, your average cowardly idiot, together with a crazed bi-polar clown who had an unhealthy obsession with _guns? _I knew God didn't exactly favour me, but _come on!_

The Joker swivelled round, his red lips stretched up in a bright grin. "Well, uh, _A-bi-gail. _Get dressed fas_t-ah!"_ He giggled a little at himself. I forced myself to hold back a sigh.

"Why?" I muttered quietly. The Joker cackled.

"Why so serious, doll?" He shook his head. Though a second later, he was grinning madly again, and his hands flung themselves up into the air. "We're going on an _ad-ven-ture!" _

"Adventure?" I didn't like the sound of that.

The Joker hooted a laugh, before skipping out the room. Although this Joker was decidedly safer – it was a side of him that made someone feel like repeatedly banging their head against a concrete wall. It was _that _annoying.

_Just be grateful that he didn't choke the life out of you there, Abby!_

I sighed, and sunk against the ruined pillow. How did I get myself into this mess again?

* * *

The moment my innocent eyes laid upon the Hyams 'slaughter' truck, I knew I was well and truly screwed.

"I am _not _getting in that thing."

"Yes you are!" The Joker squealed in delight. He stood behind me and clapped two heavy gloved hands onto my shoulders. I could easily feel the threat in _that. _It gave me the _'get in the truck or I'll kill you'_ feeling.

"Why?" I asked cautiously. The Joker looked around at his goons, and laughed loudly. The goons laughed along, but theirs were forced and nervous-sounding. Of course, I had absolutely no idea what they were laughing _about. _I couldn't see how getting into a van like that would be anything less than suicide.

"Why? Why, why, _why _indeed!" The Joker cackled gleefully, and he took the liberty of messing up my hair. I scowled, but stayed stock-still. I'd learnt my lesson. Fighting back against the Joker was never a good idea.

He noticed my loss of fight, apparently, because the Joker frowned. He bent down so that his breath was tickling my earlobe, and spoke in my ear, all hushed and quiet-like. "Did I ever mention that I'd like my woman to have a bit of fight in her?"

I gulped. "Yeah – something along those lines?"

The Joker let out a long breath. I could feel the cool material of his glove at the nape of my neck, gently caressing as his mouth hovered at the shell of my ear. "Then, uh, where has my fierce little Abigail gone?" He sounded a little sad as he pressed his lips to the top of my ear. I forgot momentarily that he hadn't even broken up the syllables in my name like he usually did.

"Boss, are we going to –"

_BANG!_

I jumped about a feet in the air, and landed in the Joker's arms (though I had a feeling he held them out on purpose). I looked to my right to see that the goon, who'd tried to speak, was lying dead in a pool of his own blood. My eyes widened, and looked back to the Joker – who was scowling at the dead guy.

"Anyone, uh, _else _wanna interrupt me?" The Joker asked, growling. The rest of the goons shook their heads, and I noticed him tuck a gun back into his pocket. "Then everyone get in the truck, or I'll, uh, shoot all of ya." The Joker was laughing hysterically to himself as he carried me into the van.

"You are crazy," I mumbled, shocked. I'd seen too many dead people since the Joker had kidnapped me.

"I'm no_t-ah," _He replied hotly, shoving me into the back of the van. The other goons filed in after us, and sat around me. The Joker sent them each a scathing look. "Touch her anywhere, uh, _inappropriate_ and you're dead." Then he skipped to the front, laughing again.

Needless to say, the goons hastily shuffled away from me.

I sighed wearily, and shuffled up against the van wall as much as I could. Though I really didn't want to, my eyes unconsciously scanned the interior of the van. It was dark, but I could make out the goons' white masks – a stark contrast against the blackness. It was rather creepy. It reminded me briefly of those disembodied people you saw in horror movies.

I rolled my eyes. Trust me to think of _disembodied _people at times like these…

I could just about make out the crude shapes of weapons piled up against the opposite wall – guns no doubt. Whatever 'adventure' the Joker was taking me on, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be a leisurely drive through Gotham.

I cleared my throat, catching the attention of the silent goons. "What is it that we're doing exactly?" I asked hesitantly, cautious.

A goon somewhere to my right snickered. "You'll find out soon enough, Dent."

I frowned. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"Boss's orders," Another goon grunted. I groaned and slid down the wall. A sick feeling had started to gnaw at my insides – something didn't feel right about all this. Something bad was going to happen. But _what? _Why was I feeling so apprehensive?

My thoughts were cut off when I heard the engine start. The wall behind me started to shake as the engine rumbled, so I leant forward. The goons all tensed up suddenly, and they automatically reached out for a weapon. I felt compelled to take a gun myself, but I stopped that idea in its tracks. The mere thought of holding a device which could hurt somebody made me want to vomit. I promised myself after my mother and father died that I would never touch a weapon. _Never._

I crossed my arms and looked away from the weapons, as the truck started to move.

Of course, I'd seen bad driving before. Harvey wasn't exactly the _safest _driver around, but he was alright for short periods of driving. I thought I knew what reckless driving was. I really did.

Though I realised a second later, that I really had no _idea_ what reckless driving meant until the van started to speed up. And I mean _seriously _speed up.

It was only when I was falling about on my head that I asked the question.

"Who the hell is driving this bloody thing?!"

A chorus of groans followed after my shout. "Who do you think, kid?" A voice said over the screeching tyres of the van. "The Joker."

I repeat: how did I get myself into this mess again?


End file.
